Hath Sin a Sex ? 



HATH SIN A SEX? 



OR 



The World Never Forgives Her, 



A Play in Two Acts. 



BY 



Richard D. Kathrens 



Discussing an important Problem pre- 
sented by a common, but little understood, 
phase of our Social life. 






CAST OF CHARACTERS. 



Mildred Brewer — Acquainted with the ways of the world. 
Cares nothing much for the respectables of 
society ; somewhat cynical and imbittered 
but withal a noble woman and a steadfast 
friend., 

Beulah Waring — Anxious to reform. One of the milHon 
struggling heroines, of whose trials and 
sacrifice the world takes no heed. 



Scene of the Play — New York City. 
Time — Present. 



Copyrighted 1911 

By RICHARD D. KATHRENS 

Kansas City, Mo. 

All Rights Reserved 



CCI.D 24195 



HATH SIN A SEX? 



ACT I. (Scene) Drazviug room of an elegantly appointed 
apartment in Ti^'cnty-nintJi Street, near Fifth Avenue. 



Mildred — {In a lounging robe, lazily reclining on a divan, 
reading a book — puts aside the book, assumes a thoughtful 
or puccled expression, and begins to talk) — Nearly seven- 
thirty and Beulah not here ; and gone the whole blessed 
day, too. I wonder what has happened ; she never did such a 
thing before. And, Jack will never forgive her {Telephone 
rings). O, probably that is she now. {Ansivers the 'phone.) 
Hello ! — not yet — I am expecting her every minute — can't 
imagine what's keeping her — Yes, I'll be sure to tell her — 
she'll be sorry, I know — is that so^ — she did — Well, wait a 
minute till I get a pencil — now, — at Holland, 8 :30 — I won't 
forget — Good-bye! {Hangs up receiver and continues to 
talle) — What in the world can have happened to that girl — 
something most unusual, I'll wager. She never before failed 
to keep her engagements with Jack — it's just like burning up a 
hundred dollar bill. {Enter Beulah.) 

Beulah — O, Mildred, I am so happy, I can hardly keep 
from crying. 

Mildred — What has kept you out all day, girlie? Jack 
says you promised to be here all afternoon — 

Beulah — Yes, that is so. 

Mildred — He has called up a half dozen times since four 
o'clock. He says he has made all arrangements for a big night 
at Sherry's, and that you mmst not fail him. He will not be 
able to call for you, but says that a taxi-cab will be waiting 
for you at the Ladies' entrance of the Holland House, at 8 :30. 
He insisted that I write it all down so there would be no mis- 
take, for he would not be able to 'phone again, and — O, yes — 
he told me to be sure to say that it would be the event of 
your life ! 

Beulah^ — The event of my life. Dear old Jack! I'll have 
to disappoint him tonight. I have gone to Sherry's for the 
last time. 

Mildred^ — Why girl, are you mad — disappoint Jack ! Do 



you know what you are saying? Why. Jack Dawson is the 
envy and despair of a thousand girls — and he'd stake his last 
dollar on you. Are you going to deliberately cut yourself off 
from your best opportunity? Now, Beulah, don't do any rash 
OT sentimental thing. 

Beulah — I am neither rash nor sentimental, Mildred. I 
have resolved to give up this life, and I want you to help me 
keep that resolution — won't yon help me ? 

Mildred — 'Why, I don't quite understand — of course — I — 
I'll dO' anything for you — but, give you up. 

Beulah — Even that — you must give me up (Mildred looks 
at her in astonishment) — Listen Mildred. I want to do the 
right thing — I am not happy, living as I do, and I am going 
to make a change — one that I have long had in contemplation 
— but I lacked the courage to act, until today. I have already 
made the first step, and now I want — I need your support — 
don't make it hard for me. 

Mildred! — What in the world has come over you — ^what 
has happened, for goodness sake? You talk like one in the 
very depths of the dumps — and just at a time when every thing- 
seems to be coming your way — 

Beulah — Everything — but the things I most desire ! I 
have been nmrking today, Mildred — 

Mildred — Working — zvorking! Certainly gone crazy — 

Beulah (not taking notice of Mildred's remark) — and I 
will need rest tonight, so I will be bright and alert tomorrow. 
I put in an application at Lacy's about a month ago — I've been 
planning a long time on this move— and yesterday afternoon I 
was asked to call at the Manager's office. Of course I was 
unable to furnish any references ; so I claimed to be a stranger 
in New York, but my evident earnestness brought me success, 
and I was assigned to a counter in the Handkerchief Depart- 
ment. 

Mildred — Your evident earnestness, indeed ! Your pretty 
face, I rather believe ; and pray, how much money will Lacy's 
give yO'U for gracing their Handkerchief Department? 

Beulah — Not much, to begin with — only Six and a Half 
a week — ^but — 

Mildred (breaks in) — Six and a Half! Six Dollars and 
a Half a zveekf Why you won't be able to exist on that — that 
won't more than pay your manicuring bill — 

Beulah — But, I'm green you know, dear; aiid I won't 
need to care much about manicuring. Thousands of other 
girls — better girls than I — manage to get along on less money. 
I certainly should be able to make out; then, it's honorable 



work, Mildred, and my earnest, diligent application to my 
duties will, I am sure, win early promotion for me. 

Mildred — O, Beulah, your optimism is sublime ! As if 
devoted services, alone ever got fair recognition in a Depart- 
ment store — you won't have any chance at all with the shiftless 
coquette, at the other end of the counter, who gets down late 
in the mornings, neglects her trade, is indifferent as to sales 
and conducts herself generally as if she owned the building — 

Beulah — (laiigJiingly) Why, I don't understand you! 
Why in the world won't I be able to pass her — It's not reason- 
able to presume that business is conducted that way. 

Mildred — It is not a matter of reason, dear, nor business 
either. You won't be able to pass that girl, for the simple 
reason that you will not be willing to do the things that she 
does, and on that account, you will fail to awaken the same 
interest in the Manager of the Department. That's all there is 
to it, Beulah, and you will find that I am not far wrong. 

Beulah — Surely, dear, your cynicism is getting the better 
of your judgment. It cannot be that all men are bad, and, 
Mildred, honest effort must sometime v/in? 

Mildred — I will not say that all men are bad — not exactly 
that — but I think, as a basis of argument, I am safe in the 
assumption that only fezi' men are good; and I grant you that 
honest effort may sometime ivin, but at best that is most uncer- 
tain, and are you going to stake all on such a problematical 
outcome — what if your dream should fail to come true? 

Beulah — I shall try again, and trust to Heaven for 
strength. 

Mildred — I really believe you are losing yO'Ur mind ! 

Beulah — Quite to the contrary, Mildred, I firmly believe 
I am just finding my mind — this is the awakening. 

Mildred — (raising botJi hands in gesture of impatience) 
In the language of the Ilaymarket, Beulah, you are the limit ! 
Your innocence is charming, but pathetic; your judgment in 
this whole matter is controlled by one of those ephemeral 
fancies vulgarly called a "pipe" — This is an intensely practical 
old wor-ld in which we live, and you will find, my dear, that 
money talks, and it doesn't much matter where or how you 
get it — just so you get it. 

Beulah — Money is not all, Mildred ! This life of indolence 
and un-earned leisure has perverted our notions of things — 
dress and diamonds and midnight revelries are the ideals we 
have followed— passing baubles that lure us on to destruction ! 
There is only one thing worth while, Mildred, and that is 
love! Not the fawning flattery of a roue', or the counterfeit 
devotion of a libertine who makes virtues of our vices for his 



own ignoble ends, and then leaves lis ever after tO' bear the 
scars of his cancerous touch — but, a deep and holy attach- 
ment inspired by a pure and worthy life ! 

Mildred— Your eloquence quite overpowers me, and 
places me at a great disadvantage, for I, too — perverse as I am 
— keenly feel the truth of what you say — :but, as I just re- 
marked, Beulah dear, this is a practical world, and we must 
live life much as we find it — not as we would. 

Beulah — Where there's a will there's a way, you know — 

Mildred — No, I do not know. That's a trite sentence, 
and it's engaging to the ear, but — let's talk sense, Beulah — 
How are you going to live on Six and a Half Dollars a week? 
Noble sentiments, honorable motives, good intentions, high 
purposes and all that, tvill not buy any thing! The rent man 
will continue to demand money; sO' will the grocer and the 
dressmaker, and you will be obliged to deal with these neces- 
sary evils on their own terms — What are you going to do about 
it, my dear? 

Beulah — I'll have to do like other girls, I suppose. Of 
course I will have to modify my tastes somewhat — deny myself 
many things, and skimp a little, perhaps, but I will have 
lifted myself out of a life of shame and dishonor, and therein 
lies the real compensation-^more, far more, to me, than 
money ! — 

Mildred — I am utterly unable to follow you — I — I — 

Beulah — Forgive me, Mildred dear, if I have spoken 
inconsiderately — I would not wound you for the world — I am 
beside myself tonight and I hardly know what I am saying. 

Mildred — ^O, that's all right. I take no exception to the 
reproach in your speech, but it is the impracticability of your 
plans to which I object. 

Beulah^-But this life is intolerable to me, Mildred, and I 
must get out of it the best way I can. I love Jack, as you 
know, but I cannot continue to live on this way — languishing 
in luxury — but cut off from all the most cherished things of 
life. You know the attitude of his family ; and I am like a mill- 
stone about his neck, and in the e)^es of his Mother, I am a 
nameless thing — although I would give my life for him — but, 
let's not talk of Jack, now. I am determined to win my way 
back to the position I have forfeited — and by honest work. 

Mildred — Your purpose is beautiful, Beulah, but your 
method is wrong, I fear — your plans are defective. 

Beulah — The die is cast, Mildred ; my duty is before me, 
and I propose to perform it, however difficult and hopeless it 



may appear. There is no turning back now, and I am happy — 
so happy, even in contemplation of it. 

Mildred {JiaJf flippantly) — It is quite apparent that you 
are overjoyed — indeed; you seem as happy as if you were going 
to a funeral — 

Beulah — Ah, the funeral of my dead past ! 

Mildred — But, you talk in riddles, Beulah — Jack will not 
listen to any of this. 

Beulah — Jack shall know nothing of my plans — nothing 
of my whereabouts ; from this day forward, I shall be as one 
dead to him. I shall deny myself to all — even to you, best and 
truest friend girl ever had ! 

Mildred {in astonishment) — Why, Beulah! What do you 
mean ? 

Beulah — Just exactly what I say. I shall leave here in 
the morning, and only you, Mildred, of all my past shall know 
aught of me or my doings, and I want to swear you to absolute 
secrecy. 

Mildred — You marvel me, and your determined manner 
quite takes my breath away — but, granting that you do as you 
say — how am I to account for your absence? 

Beulah — ^Just don't try to account — 

Mildred — I'll have to say something — 

Beulah — Well, say anything then — that — that — I was 
becoming moody of late — a bit queer, if you like, — and that — I 
— I — just left the apartment one morning, and^and failed to 
come back, or say any other thing that comes into your mind 
— only not the slightest intimation of the facts, and not a 
hint of my whereabouts — you'll promise me, won't vou, 
Mildred ? 

Mildred — If you insist; of course, I will promise to do 
anything for you — that is, undertake to do anything — but I 
know I shall acc^uit myself most awkwardly. 

Beulah — Now, to continue : I intend to take a quiet little 
•room in Fifty-second Street near Ninth Avenue. I went over 
there at noon today, and made all arrangements. An express- 
man will call tomorrow for my trunk. 

Mildred — For your trunk! — then this is only to be an 
experiment, and if things do not turn out as you have planned, 
you will come back, won't 3^ou? 

Beulah — No, dear, I shall never return. 

Mildred — But what can you put in a trunk — what do you 
propose to do with the car load of other things you have here, 
that won't go in a trunk? 

Beulah — I will need, and take only a trunk — such plain 



clothes as befits the station of a working girl — Mother's picture 
— and yours — and — and Jack's, and everything eles I shall 
leave behind. 

Mildred — Give up your rings and other jewels! Why, 
you must be mad, girl ! 

Beulah — They shall be left with the rugs and pictures and 
hats and gowns and parasols, and what-not, to find such 
ownership as will accept or claim them. I have not honestly 
earned, and do not deserve them — and I give them up, forever ! 

Mildred — That speech is worthy of a Joan of Arc. Little 
does the world know of such heroism ! What do you expect 
to gain by this voluntary exile, and self-imposed immolation? 

Beulah — The esteem and respect of good people — and the 
consciousness oi my. own worthiness! 

Mildred^ — Beulah, dear, I should be lost indeed to every 
sense of right and decency, if I failed to appreciate the great 
worth of your splendid sentiment, or sought to turn you from 
your high resolve — 

Beulah — Bless your dear heart — 

Mildred — But, I feel that yO'U are following the most 
difficult course — I dare say, the wrong way round. 

Beulah — There is no alternative, Mildred — and the longer 
I delay, the harder it will be for me. 

Mildred — But why pay this awful price — there must be 
some easier way? 

Beulah — There is no other way — the price must be paid. 

Mildred — I fear you have only the cud in view, and have 
not counted the great cost. Why sacrifice your life in this 
cruel way, "for the esteem of good people" — who are the good 
people ; and will they respect you the more because you scourge 
yourself? I insist, you have chosen the wrong way, Beulah! 
What have these good people done for you — what are they 
going to do? The world cares nothing for you — your suiTer- 
ings, or your denials, and why should you care for the world 
— its flattery or its frown? We are ivhat we are, Beulah, be- 
cause we are caught up in the great, eternal laws, and sur- 
rounded by conditions — not of our making — that impel us to 
do, or not to do. Nature takes no note of our station — she 
counts our joys and sorrows just the same, and gives us all to 
the worms at last — So^ 

Beulah— O, Mildred, Mildred !— 

Mildred {continues) — So, why not make the most of 
it while we may? I intend to get all that's coming to me out 
of life, and I'm not going to borrow any unnecessary trouble; 
or kill my nature — just to please a lot of hypocritical old 



gossips who think that heaven was made for dolts and dys- 
peptics. For goodness sake, don't act rashly. Don't burn all 
your bridges and thus render retreat all the more difficult. 

Beulah — I am not acting rashly, Mildred ; I have carefully 
considered my step for months, and have tried to view it from 
every angle. So far, I am satisfied, and the prospect is pleas- 
ing to me — Listen, dear: — I have been in my iiczv world just 
one day, but already I am privileged to^ meet, and to talk freely 
with people who would not have touched elbows with me 
yesterday. I am no longer a thing to be spurned' — but lifted to 
the surface again, by the magic of changed surroundings. I 
feel like a nezi> being — indeed, I am a woman, once more! O, 
what a joy, to mingle with respectable people and to feel a 
sense of equality ! 

Mildred — Your idea of equality, I am sure, is not shared 
by any of the respectables you waited on today. 

Beulah — But here are the facts, as I see them : Yesterday 
I was a creature of the under-world (Mildred displays some 
emotion and puts her hand across her face) — It's an awful 
confession to make, but there's no disguising the fact, Mildred, 
it is trtie — living in ease and elegance, yes — pampered and 
tiattered', to be sure, but ostracised by society — made to feel in 
a thousand ways the shame and degradation of my position — 
forbidden to associate — even to talk with decent people ; and, 
today — all day, I have been dealing cross-coimter with mo.st 
estimable ladies — pure and light-hearted women — many of 
themi members of the best and most reputable families. O, 
why should I not feel rejoiced ! After while, some of them 
will take me up, and life will open anew for me — is it not 
worth ei'ery sacrifice ! 

Mildred — I envy you your hopeful dispO'sition ; and your 
confidence in human nature is simply sublime ! I certainly 
wish you every possible success, but I fear for the morrow, 
Beulah — the stern reality, as you will one day find it. You 
have a much colored notion, about these "members of reputable 
families," and their real interest in a poor working-girl. 

Beulah — If you could only put aside your pessimism, and 
come with me — but that's hoping for too much now, perhaps ; 
but, dear, I want you to know my happiness shall never be 
com.plete, until you, too, are emancipated from this miserable 
bondage. 

Mildred — Emancipated! Ah, a consummation devoutly 
to be wished, but not among the possibilities ! This is a man's 
world, Beulah ! Its privileges and immunities are all for hiui. 
His mistakes are not treasured against him, but are charged 
ofif to innocence — ignorance — youth, or even justified on the 
ground that "boys will be boys," you know. No such sweet 



charity for us ! Girls may not be girls, in the same sense — 
only the straight and narrow path for them and the slightest 
deviation — through fault or frailty — may mean disaster — a 
blighted future — a social convict for life. The conventions of 
society, Beulah, run hard against the woman ! 

Beulah — But, must we submit without a struggle — sur- 
render our independence — forfeit our womanhood forever, and 
sink, and sink and sink ! O, Mildred ! I cannot agree with 
your philosophy. 

Mildred — We have no independence, and our footing is 
never secure ! Our manner and dress and speech are every- 
body's business. If we are light-hearted and free, we are 
censured for it ; our motives and purposes are continually being 
misunderstood ; our smiles— unless most thoughtfully bestowed 
— are made the warrant for liberties or unwelcome attentions, 
and our glances are given a lascivious meaning; our little indis- 
cretions are magnified into enormities, and the very foundations 
of our good name may be swept away, by the ever growing 
force of an idle tale, sent upon a mission of evil. There is no 
escape, Beulah — it is the inevitable against which we struggle, 
and it is oi no use to hope for emancipation ! 

Beulah — What are we to do? 

Mildred. — ^Make the most of it, dear — just like the man 
in the trench, who would trade places with the millionaire. 

Beulah {quickly) — But, some men have done even that. 

Mildred — Yes, yes, that is true — ^but they were men! 

Beulah — O, Mildred, you defeat me at every turn. I 
cannot match your philosophy in words. Your pessimism 
makes the whole world black, and you persist in taking only 
the gloomy view. 

Mildred — No, you mistake me, Beulah; I do not take the 
gloomy view, but I take the only view that the facts reveal. 
This life holds no charms for me — ^there is nothing in this sort 
of an existence that is to my taste or native desire. You know 
my story. I did not seek this life. I was lured into it through 
the perfidy of a man I loved — I was a silly, simple girl then. 
He was strong and handsome, and I believed him all he 
seemed to be. He brought me here, and then left me broken 
hearted and alone — taking from me the only thing I had earned 
— the protection of his name ! It's a queer world, Beulah ; he 
is honored and respected today, while I — I — am an — outcast, 
left to drift with the tide — at the mercy of the storm ! 

Beulah — There, there, dear- — it's a cruel shame. I know 
you have sufifered much. You have endured enough to imbitter 
the life of a saint. 



Mildred — But, I am not bitter. I am only trying to be 
reasonab.c, and to save you needless grief and pain — 

Beulah— O, ^lildred, ^lildred— 

Mildred — Listen to me, dear: I have passed through the 
experience that awaits you, if you persist in your plans. I 
have had day dreams, too — high hopes — beautiful ideals — 
soul desires — that for the moment lifted me above myself — ■ 
out of the shadow and into the radiance of the sun — but my 
plans always failed, just when it seemed that the longed-for 
hour of deliverance was at hand. However well I planted — 
however zealously I tended the little garden of my hopes — 
defeat and desolation and despair were my harvest ! After 
repeated failures. I realized that I was waging a hopeless 
warfare wdth Fate — but I knew not what to do. The alterna- 
tive of suicide stared me in the face ; and the dark and silent 
river where many a poor, disconsolate girl had sought rest and 
peace, beckoned me to its placid bosom, but I lacked the cour- 
age — I lacked the courage — • 

Beulah — O, is there no justice — is there no forgiveness 
fcr the woman! — may she not amend her life, and regain her 
lost estate? 

Mildred — Xo. Beulah, there is no justice for the woman 
who is said to have fallen — the world never forgives her. I 
have learned the lesson — to my great sorrow, the bitter, sting- 
ing truth has com.e home to me — I know enough of the world 
and society and wagging tongues to know that a i^'oman can- 
not reform, if she would! And. these very "respectables"' 
about whom you talk — ^these delightful, indulgent, gentle folk 
— these obsequious sisters that you have been dealing with to- 
day, have no real interest in you. Their apparent concern is 
not genuine — their smiles are afifected and their hearts are 
not sincere. Don't be deceived, dear — don't mistake the 
shadow for the substance ! Not one of these friends in your 
new world would stoop to defend your honor, if some irrespon- 
sible scandal monger chanced to make you the subject O'f at- 
tack. Just let them know your story, and they would turn 
on you like hell cats — they would disdainfully lift their skirts 
and pass you by as a thing to be despised — caring not one 
whit what might become of you — and all your sacrifice and 
struggle and pain would avail you nothing — nothing ! 

Beulah — I am c[uite unnerved by your recital, and your 
persuasive argument shakes my confidence in myself — but I 
must not falter now — I must go on whatever the consequence. 
Do not, dear, I beg of you {telephone rings) do not seek 
further to dissuade me from my purpose. 

Mildred — I shall desist, mv dear, but I could not see vou 



go, without warning you of the rocks ahead (felcphoiie rings, 
again). 

Beulah — {takes up phone, hut concludes to let Mildred 
anszver it) — You answer it, Mildred, please, and if anyone 
wants me, say I can't be seen tonight, and if they insist, say 
that I am not here. 

Mildred — {at the 'phone)—Re\\o\ — Yes, this is she — but, 
it's 8 :30 now— can't I beg off tonight ? Well, wait a minute 
{places her hand oz'cr the mouth-piece of 'phone and addresses 
herself to Beulah) — It's Clarence, and he wants me to go to 
Martin's with him, but I haven't the heart to go now. 

Beulah — By all means, dear, go and have a good time — 

Mildred — But I should not leave you at this time — I am 
fearfully upset — 

Beulah — Let me insist, dear, go, and dismiss me and my 
affairs for awhile — tell him you will go. 

Mildred — Well (continues telephone talk) Hello! — all 
right— when may I expect you — O, just my hat and gloves— 
in tzt'o. minutes — I'll be at the entrance — By-by ! {hangs up 
'phone and turns to Beulah)- — ^Clarence is just across the street 
at the Breslin, and says he will be at our entrance by the time 
I reach there {hurriedly putting on hat and gloies all the 
ivlile). It's a shame, though, to leave in this tmceremonious 
way — I should much prefer to remain with you, under the cir- 
cumstances — but I shall not be out late tonight — 

Beulah — Now don't hurry yourself. I shall keep busy 
packing-up, you know, and we'll have a long talk when you 
return'. 

Mildred — Not later than 11 :30, and you'll not retire be- 
fore that. 

Beulah — I'll be waiting for you, and wide awake as an 
owl. 

Mildred — {both at the door, by this time) — I trust I have 
not added to your already too heavy burden. Forgive me if 
my earnestness and zeal have carried me too far — forget the 
harsh or cruel things I may have spoken — my cynicism and 
pessimism— and remember only the spirit of my protest, and 
the sister's heart that prompts it. (Exeunt Mildred.) 

Beulah — Bless her dear heart ! She means well, I know. 
(Takes dozvn from the zvall, picture of her Mother — reaches 
across mantel for Jack's — gases on picture for a moment, and 
then overcome by her emotion, bends her head on her arm — 
Curtain.) 



ACT II. 



(Bcitlali Waring' s modest quarters in Fifty-second St. 
Three months Jiave passed since Beulah determined to give tip 
the old life. The action of this seoie begins early in the even- 
ing, after Zi'orkiiig hours. Beulah has just entered — lights the 
cjas stoic — puts on the icater to boil — takes up her seizing — acts 
Jiervously.) 



Beulah — When will my past cease to upbraid me ! Like 
Ranquo's ghost, it sits at every feast, and reproaches me! 
There seems to be no escape from myself. Try as I will, the 
follies of other days, like grim specters, haunt me; and just 
when my hopes are highest — they rise before me, and mock 
my earnest efforts at reform. I am desolate, indeed. O, if I 
were only a man ! I might start over again, and the world 
would applaud and encourage me. Something is woefully 
wrong in cur system which gives a sex to sin, and forces the 
weaker one to bear the entire burden ! To be born a girl, it 
would seem, is the unpardonable sin ! But, I should not com- 
plain — it is my life, and I must live it — I have chosen my 
path, and I must pursue it now to the end. Maybe, after all, 
I am borrowing trouble unnecessarily — but, I feel so helpless 
tonight — so alone. If I could only turn to someone who be- 
lieves in me — someone to whom I might unburden my bursting 
heart — who would sympathize with me, and comfort and ad- 
vise me. {A rapping at the door) — Who can that be 
{nervously opens the door) — ^Mildred! Mildred!! 

Mildred — Beulah! {Both embrace) — I just could not wait 
another minute — -ages have passed since we parted — 

Beulah — Nearly three months — 

Mildred — It seems like ages to me. Would you believe 
it — I have tried forty times to come here, but each time I 
discovered that my movements were being observed, and I 
hesitated and delayed, until — well, until my anxiety got the 
mastery of my caution. I just couldn't deny myself any longer. 
I knew you could not come to me ; and I was becoming fear- 
ful lest you should think me indifferent and forgetful. 

Beulah — O, no, no, dear ; I know that a friendship like 
ours could not die so soon — that your heart would not grow 
cold. 

Mildred — And, haven't you missed me, Beulah? Now, 

13 



honor-bright — have there not been moments when your heart 
has asked for me? 

Beulah — O, dear, my heart pleads for yen always. I've 
missed you every minute. I've hungered for you — and, just 
now — all unconsciously my very soul was crying* out for you 
- — someone to love me — someone who wo-uld believe in me, 
and — as if in answer to my prayer — you came! I need you 
now, Mildred, — your advice — your strong heart, more, more 
than ever before! (gives zvay to her emotion) 

Mildred — Calm your dear self ; I know what you need 
(looking about the room) — it's air and sunshine, and a few 
comforts — ■ 

Beulah — No, no, no ! I have all I need — all I deserve. 
It's the penalty of the past that I am required to pay, and I 
feel my strength is failing me. 

Mildred — It's enough to rack anybody's nerves to live 
alone, in this cheerless garret. I had no idea that you were 
cooped up in this miserable place, while I was enjoying every 
luxury. It's wrong, Beulah, — it's wrong, I say. Why should 
you sacrifice your young life — I did wrong when I promised 
to help you carry out your mad resolve, and a greater wrong 
to have kept that promise. 

Beulah — But you have kept the secret of my whereabouts ? 

Mildred — Yes, yes — and now I see the folly of it, and the 
cruel shame. I have met every one we ever knew, and in 
answer to their anxious inquiry, I told them all the same beau- 
tiful lie — that you had just disappeared — without an explana- 
tion, or a word of good-bye, you just vanished. And then our 
dear friends began to speculate, and my very conscience 
tortured me. The poet was right, Beulah : "Thy friends 
will all assail, if the world shall first assail." They were all 
kind and considerate enough to believe that perhaps you had 
met-up with some rich Westerner, and had just given us all 
the slip, so you would not have any compromising explana- 
tions to make. — O, how I could have scratched their eyes out ! 
Only one was good enough to believe in you — 

Beulah — And that one — who, pray? 

Mildred — ^Can you not guess? (Beulah hangs her head) 
— ^Why Jack, of course — dear old Jack ! He is still uncon- 
solable. He's a changed man — nothing seems to interest him, 
or to distract him from memories of you. The one great 
regret of his life, Beulah, is that he did not marry you. 

Beulah — But, his family, Mildred ! — 

Mildred — The deuce take his family — what matters his 
family, if you love each other? They would get over their 
scruples after a while — and if they didn't — why should you 

14 



two sacrifice your lives, because of a foolish family notion ! 
Beulah, Love is the supreme test, and not the social standing 
of somebody's Papa — especially when that social position is 
largely a matter of bank account. Jack believes in you, 
Beulah, and if I am any judge of the depth of a man's devotion 
— he'd stake his life on you! 

Beulah — {anxiously) What does Jack think has become 
of me? 

Mildred — He has never expressed himself definitely in my 
presence. He listens to what other people have to say, and 
shakes his head. He often .asks me if I am not keeping some- 
thing from him that he should know. He seems terribly 
worried, and, I really believe, that down in his heart he thinks 
that possibly you have taken your life — never a suspicion of a 
doubt has entered his mind, and your praises are continually 
on his lips. 

Beulah — O, I am so thankful for that assurance — 

Mildred — And I — -I am going to take you back to Jack, 
where you belong. 

Beulah — -Kb, Mildred, I have given up the old life forever! 
and you nuist not seek to distract me from my resolve. I'll 
go back to Jack — only when I may do so honorably ! 

Mildred — Why be obdurate, Beulah, this slaving existence 
is telling on you — it is killing your young heart. What can 
3^ou find in such an empty life? 

Beulah — My. life is not empty — indeed every minute of 
my time is occupied. I'm up at 6 every morning — make my 
breakfast — tidy-up my rooni, get to the store by 7:30, and at 
work by 8 o'clock. From that time, until 5 :30, I have little 
dead time — 

Mildred — But the monotony of it all — no relief — no diver- 
sion — It would kill me — 

Beulah — In the evenings, I do my washing and mending, 
and find some time to read. I have been very happy here — 
very, very happy — until today! 

Mildred — O, yes, I have talked so much that you had 
almost forgotten to tell me the terrible thing that has happened. 

Beulah — I wish to heaven that I might forget — 

Mildred — I shall be all attention now — 

Beulah — It's a long story, Mildred, but I shall hurry 
through with it. — 

Shortly after I commenced work at Lacy's, a Mrs. 

15 



Marshall — one O'f the dearest, sweetest women yuu would wish 
to know — came to my counter, and engaged me in conversa- 
tion. She seemed to take an unusual interest in me from the 
very start, and since that time she has been an ahnost daily 
caller at my department — and you can't imagine what cheer 
and comfort I have received from her visits and her gracious, 
kindly attentions ! She has been like a mother to me, and I 
have looked forward each day for her coming. There was 
something in her atmosphere that seemed to put at rest all 
my doubts and misgivings — her very presence breathed peace 
and goodness and purity and love ! O, what a joy to know and 
to be esteemed by such a dear soul ! 

To my astonishment, I found that she is in some way 
connected with the firm — not exactly, yo-u know — but she has 
an interest in the business, and the Manager, Mr. Ferguson, 
is her nephew. You can appreciate something of my predica- 
ment, when I realized how closely I was being drawn into the 
lives of people who would resent my very glances and spurn 
my social touch, if the slightest hhit of my past should ever 
reach their ears. 

Mrs. Marshall has repeatedly invited me to her home, and 
it has taxed my genius to make acceptable excuses — but, my 
confusion was greatest, when one day last month, Miss Ruth, 
her daughter — a delightful, girly girl of about 18 years — was 
presented to me by he-r mother — and then they both insisted 
that I take dinner with them on the following Sunday. 

Mildred— Well, that's making progress — you certainly 
went — ' 

Beulah — Most certainly not — how could I? 

Mildred — Why? why didn't you go, dear? 

Beulah — ^Mildred ! impose myself on those. people — deceive 
them — subject them to the possible humiliation of having my 
record disclosed to them, and by some social rival perhaps ! 
O, Mildred, you would not have me do that? 

Mildred — But Beulah, you are always looking out for the 
other fellow. If you are not good enough to associate with 
these people nozv, when in the world will you be? 

Beulah — Only when I shall have lived down my past — but 
Mildred, I fear that the worst has come to the worst today — 
and, now to the particularly distressing occurrence that has 
filled me with anxious forebodings. 

Mildred — You are unduly sensitive, my dear ; maybe after 

i6 



all. you are giving ycurFclf to your old habit of crossing bridges 
before reaching them — 

Beulah — But you don't know — you shall understand pres- 
ently — I am so apprehensive of trouble. I feel it in my very 
bones that danger is at hand. 

Alildred — Well, what in the world could have happened— 
what can happen? 

Beulah — This morning, while Mrs. ^Marshall was chatting 
with me, at my counter, a gentleman approached her, and all 
the while he eyed me as if he were searching my very soul — 
I knew it intuitively that he recognized me — for the life of 
me, I could not place him. Just as Mrs. Alarshall was about 
to present him to me, he affected not to note her purpose, but 
hent forward and whispered something in her ear, and then, 
turning on his heel, hurriedly passed out of my view. My 
head was in a whirl. Mrs. Alarshall excused herself, saying 
that she would return in a few minutes, and with a most 
gracious smile took leave of me and passed on in the direction 
of my nemesis. 

Mildred — You don't suppose that he would tell on you? 
But then, men do not care — it is their trade to despoil and 
destroy. 

Beulah — ^Mrs. Marshall did not return ; and. of course, 
she knows the truth. She must feel outraged at my touch — to 
think that she has exposed herself to the contamination of such 
as I — and her innocent daughter, too ! 

Mildred — Compose yourself, Beulah — If she is the right 
kind of a woman, she'll not condemn you. You have not im- 
posed yourself on her — why. you have denied yourself the 
privilege of doing the very thing for which your heart yearned 
— to associate with respectable people. 

Mrs. Marshall will now understand why you have never 
accepted her invitations ; and her woman's heart will certainly 
not shut you out ! 

It'll come out all right, dearie, and if not — come back 
with me, and snap your fingers at Fate, and the cruel system 
that would crush a heart like yours — (A knock at the door — 
Beulah opens the door). 

Messenger Boy — {Delk'cring message) — A note for Miss 
Beulah Waring. 

Beulah — (Accepts note — nervously opens and reads, and 
exclaims) — O, God! {Falls on table, in convulsix'e grief — still 

17 



holds note clutched in her left hand. Mildred takes the note 
and reads aloud.) 

Mildred — {reading from the paper) — 



Manager's Office 
LACY'S- 



Miss Beulah Waring, 

427 West 52nd St., 
New York, 

Dear Miss : — 

We regret very much to inform you that we will be re- 
quired to dispense with your services after today. Word has 
come to us, from rehable source, which makes this action on 
our part imperative. You will probably understand without 

any further explanation, 

Mathew Ferguson, 

Manager, 



Mildred— Poor Beulah ! She did her utmost — and failed I 
One of the million against whom society has its hand. A noble, 
generous-hearted, gentle woman ; worthy to grace a home^ 
deserving of love and protection, but the victim of a merciless 
system that slays human hearts and condemns to shame the 
erring girl, while it exalts and glorifies the man who wrought 
her woe* {Curtain.) 



MAY 12 1911 







■MHUi 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



^^V 12 1911 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



017 400 010 4 # 



"Oh, the price that we pay 
For the single mistake; 
Oh, the souls that men slay, 
And the hearts that they break/' 



